


The Company We Keep

by verovex



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: At Least He Thinks He Did, Baby Bat is Somewhere, Ed Miscalculates, Future Fic, Love Confessions, M/M, Oswald Displays an Overwhelming Amount of Self-Control, Tuesday Morning Blues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:57:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verovex/pseuds/verovex
Summary: “I love you.”The seconds that follow after the statement is made, as if it’s floating through the air, are the most terrifying moments Edward had ever experienced. No amount of gunfire, explosions, rampant viruses, rowdy Narrows populace, League Of Assassins, or even Grundy’s strength had ever held him in such a profound state of fear.“I don’t really... feel anything.”That’s not the response Ed was hoping for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> #25 on jacoimagines Angst/Fluff prompts [list](https://cobblepotcrimefamily.tumblr.com/post/167910617942/jacoimagines-angstfluff-prompts-i-just-want). 4x08 had me feeling some kind of way.

“I love you.”

The seconds that follow after the statement is made, as if it’s floating through the air, are the most terrifying moments Edward had ever experienced. No amount of gunfire, explosions, rampant viruses, rowdy Narrows populace, League Of Assassins, or even Grundy’s strength had ever held him in such a profound state of fear.

Oswald blinks, eyes wide, but recovers, shifting to his usual disinterested demeanour. This was a trick, right? Except Oswald knew the difference in how Ed told fact from fiction, and in that moment he wasn’t lying. He was looking at him with such a shit-eating grin, so positively assured in how Oswald would respond. As if there could be nothing else more important to Oswald than the return of his affections from _years_  prior, when he’d been so royally rejected, subjected to being shot, and tossed off a pier to die. He had never told Ed since then he still loved him, so _why_ was this happening?

”You _what_?” He tried not to make it sound like he was overwhelmed with bitterness, but he _was_. How dare _he_. How dare Ed show up to his home, saunter around it as if he’d never left. Ed had pulled a crystal tumbler from the silver platter Oswald had arranged on the dining table, pouring himself a glass of the Scotch Oswald had been looking forward to. All so familiar, as if Ed had never left the manor in disarray, or betrayed its heir.

”I love you, Oswald.” Edward restated, with a new look of anticipation, but his smile dissipating. Oswald hadn’t said it back, that was the first thing he thought would occur, he’d been ninety-nine percent confident in his analysis. “You feel the same, don’t you?”

“I don’t really... _feel_ anything.” Oswald grimaced, gaze threatening to give way to the lie, forcing himself to stare down at the dark wooden floors, knowing how little control he’d have if he watched the hurt that would inevitably rip its way through Ed.

The glass fell from Edward’s hands while his brain misfired, shattering on impact with the floor, around the same time when his heart felt as if it too, was being split into pieces.

It wasn’t logical, everything up to that point had indicated otherwise, from the spies that were sent on Oswald’s behalf to constantly keep an eye on him, even years later. From the way Oswald had never gotten into any real relationships. From wayward glances when Ed dared to visit the Lounge. Those were signs, right?

”You don’t mean that.” Edward chuckled, certain this was now some game that Oswald was trying to win, but surely he still held the upper hand. When Oswald didn’t look up, Ed’s brows scrunched together in pursuit of comprehending where he’d gone wrong, how he’d miscalculated this far from the mark. Should he have started off differently? What had he missed?

”I do.”

”But, that’s—not, you, I,” Ed mustered through, speaking various other one-word sentences, as he animatedly gestured between them and around the living space of the mansion. When had been the last time he was here? “You don’t mean that.” Ed repeated, settling on a much more desperate tone.

”It’s been five years.” Oswald drawled, Ed missing the stutter of nervousness as he spoke. Oswald was trying to keep this all diplomatic, but he knew from the way Ed was lurching forward, reaching for his arms as Oswald took a step back, that Ed was hurting. But, he was _too_ , and all he really wanted to do was comfort Ed, and _be_ consoled in return. He couldn’t match Ed’s proclamation. His own hands trembled against the curve of his elbows. He had adopted the stance of crossing his arms in displeasure sometime after Ed had barged his way through his front door _._  “Did you really think I wouldn’t have moved on?”

” _Yes_.” Edward breathed, exasperated.

He’d been right, of course he’d been right, it was Ed after all. It wasn’t pride stopping Oswald from admitting it, it was fear.

”I’ve had a lot of time for introspection.” Oswald shrugged, sniffling back but feigning the threat of tears as irritation, side-stepping away from Ed to pull a chair out from the table, angling it towards him, and sitting into it. He waited to see if Ed would speak, minutes passing in silence. “Was that all?”

Edward felt like a fool, felt entirely defeated. How could he have been _wrong_?

”But you’ve never been involved with anyone else.” Ed probed, scrutinizing internally at how he had drawn his conclusions.

”Was that a question?” Oswald retorted with a simper, briskly conjuring up an appropriate reply to curve Ed’s observation. “I have no desideratum for a relationship, I’m overloaded as it is without concerning myself with another person’s intentions. The company we keep can be our greatest downfall, after all.”

“But you’ve...” Ed paused, glancing around the room. Oswald had entirely redecorated the space, paintings removed, couches upgraded, window drapes replaced, everything that Ed had ingrained in memory had been eradicated. He’s slow as he continues, “b-but you’ve been tailing me since the day you let me go from the lounge.”

”At one point, you were my biggest threat, regret, and mistake. Of course I kept watch over you.” Oswald shot back, much too abruptly, as if it had all been rehearsed, as if he’d always known Ed would someday make these types of inquiries. “I’ve had allies and foes followed for less, don’t be presumptuous of your worth.” He still ensured lack of eye contact, propping an elbow up onto the armrest, sliding his chin into his palm as he glared towards a space Ed didn’t occupy. “Is that it? Or did you want to discuss your oversight at the heist you pulled during the charity event at Wayne Manor last week? If you’re in that desperate need for cash, perhaps you can jump out of cakes for entertainment at the Iceberg Lounge.”

”Okay, that’s not how that was supposed to go—“

”Tell me then, how it was _supposed to go_ ,” Oswald seethed, with a glowing smirk. “Though I caution you, the picture I have is marvellous enough already. Especially that it ended with you in Alfred Pennyworth’s headlock.”

”Joker was meant to be there in a second cake, wires got crossed along the way.”

”What a shame.” Sarcasm laced with a hint of _something_ , is what Ed caught, as Oswald continued, “even though you both are so adamant about hating one another, you seem to work fairly well together.”

 _Jealousy_ , that’s what it was, and it damn well quickly put a smile on Ed’s face again, intent to use it. “The Joker compliments my efforts.”

”He hinders you.” Oswald counters, “you both share a predilection for chaos, but he can’t be trusted. Joker is still an infant, a dog off its leash if you will, and you can’t control him. Better to cut your losses now, before someone other than Bruce Wayne’s butler gets a hold of you. There are rumours of a new vigilante in the streets.”

Oswald doesn’t immediately notice that Ed has moved from a few feet away, closing the distance between them, Ed bending down to _tower_ over him, hands clamping down onto the armrests, caging Oswald to the chair. His eyes dart up, alert, green meeting brown hues. Oswald _tries_  to find the means to remain composed, but he can’t help how the air feels so thick between them, it’s making breathing difficult. There’s still a foot of space, but even that’s much too close. Reminding himself repeatedly that people close _die,_ is enough to help him breathe again.

”Look at me and tell me you don’t love me.” Ed demands, amused as Oswald twitches underneath him.

”I...” Oswald starts, feeling like the room was beginning to blur, trying to focus on looking at Ed, as was asked. It’s difficult to concentrate, thoughts traveling to wanting to _smother_  Ed in affection, to pull him down into the chair by his perfectly defined jaw and— Oswald can’t adjust his hesitation as he speaks, can’t fix how fallacious it sounds, “I don’t love you.”

Ed catches it this time. It’s much easier to call Oswald’s bluff from this position, from the crease of Oswald’s brows, the flush adorning his cheeks, to the way his eyes are brimmed with tears and pseudo-defiance. It’s all enough to confirm to Ed what Oswald _actually_  means, and that he’d been right all along.

“That’s enough for me.” Ed pulls back, and Oswald _breathes. “_ I’ll be back.”

Oswald’s eyes slide shut, not wanting to watch Ed leave. “Please don’t.”

He’s offered no reply except for the slam of the mansion door. Oswald waits to hear the sound of Ed’s town car leave, manoeuvring afterwards to his grandfather’s old office, and plopping down into the perch behind the desk. He pulled back the top most drawer, hands still trembling as he yanked various files out, and carelessly tossed them onto the floor. He fingered at the hidden compartment, glossing a thumb over the centre, popping the false wood upwards at the print recognition.

There are old pictures, pertinent contracts, but most important are three mementos. The broach he’d given his mother that had originally been for Fish, after she had plunged it into his hand; the note he’d received from Martin at the orphanage, folded and worn, but still maintained its script; and the origami penguin that was worse for wear, mostly from the many times Oswald had willed himself to throw it away, but always ended up scouring his garbage to retrieve it.

Ed had been a loss, even if he was still alive and well roaming Gotham — to Oswald, their friendship and his everlasting love for Ed had been a fatality to his reign. His mother, his father, Fish, Martin, had also been consequences to his incapability of holding back, and after watching his co-conspirator die of his selfish need to have _something,_ it had been enough to realize even Ed could not come back to him. There was nothing to come back to, Oswald had built an adamantine wall. Being involved with Oswald meant you were either an enforcer or an informant, nothing else. There was only business when you spoke to him, and outside of that, nothing mattered.

Because every villain in Gotham knew there was a curse over Oswald Cobblepot, and it sang a tune to anyone who dare got close. Oswald learned that after enduring five extreme losses, he would not add another. Especially not Ed's. Even if Ed was formidable in his own way, the ending would be the same. Ed would be used, or turned against him, in similar fashion to every time, and every _one_ before, and one of them would die.

It couldn’t be Ed.

_‘What I want, the poor have, the rich need, and if you eat it you’ll die.’_

_Nothing._ This was his fate, _their_  fate, to have and to hold, _nothing_  at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had unfinished business with this one-shot. Now, it’s a two-shot! Ft. Ed Nygma-POV.

“I love him.”

”Wait, what?” Lee froze, confused at how their stream of conversation concerning the Joker’s newest fascination with billionaires had steered them towards love—for who, the Joker? That would be catastrophic. “You love _who_?”

”Oswald.”

If it wasn’t for how _terrified_  Ed looked at his own revelation, Lee might have gawked and reacted with more volatility. “Ed...” She started slow, not even sure how he had arrived at this conclusion, but cognizant of how distressing it seemed to him.

They’d been friends for years, even before the mess that was the Tetch Virus and Ed’s stint at City Hall, this friendship they had now was of genuine respect. Lee could be honest with him in a way that was beneficial to them both, and Ed treated her like an equal, which was unusual if anyone truly  _knew_  the Riddler.

Ed being in love with the Penguin, who refused to give Ed any second of his day, was absurd. It had taken Lee several tries over the years to pry the story out of Ed, but she eventually obtained the abbreviated version — Oswald had killed Isabella, the Kristen Kringle lookalike, Ed tried to enact his revenge, only to be thwarted, and subsequently turned into a popsicle.

No more, no less, had been given from that explanation.

So, _how in the hell_  had Ed resolved to being in love with a monster?

“Ed, I’m confused.” Lee traced the lines of the wood in her desk with her fountain pen, watching as Ed started to pace around the room. One arm across his stomach, the other reaching to his face, knuckles at his mouth.

”You think I’m not?” Ed’s arms are up in the air in an agitated flash, distraught and overwhelmed. “I’ve gone over it exactly seventy-eight times in my mind, it’s the only thing that seems logical.”

”You _hated_  him for what he did, he killed the woman you loved.”

”I know.” Ed’s brows knitted, Lee only had part of this story. Only knew one chapter to a novel’s worth of content. She didn’t know that Oswald had been in love with him at one point too, didn’t know that Oswald had killed Isabella out of some desire to prevent him from making that mistake first—well, _again._

“Help me understand.”

Lee knew she was in for a long bout of an explanation, briefly pausing Ed in his spiel to call for Grundy, requesting he stay posted outside the door to prevent any intrusions. An interruption would only cease Ed’s willing openness.

The story jumped from a forest, to an apartment complex, to a mental asylum, to a break out, to a mansion, to City Hall, to _the_ train, to declarations of love, to _the_ pier, to stimulants, to showman status, to a reunion, a temporary truce, to an ill-attempt at a trade, to being _bamboozled_  (Ed’s exact chosen term), to being frozen into a block of ice.

Lee knew the rest. She’d also pieced together the correct chronological order of events seeing as how Ed tended to vault from one thing to another at breakneck speed, rarely realizing he’d drifted into nonsensical tangents. 

Then came the part she wanted him to focus on the most, the how’s and why’s.

How Ed had spent decades of his life with no one to commiserate with or relate to, but Oswald had filled that void. How Ed had felt like he’d missed an important piece to the puzzle of honing in on his identity, but Oswald had helped it all fall together. How Oswald saw Ed in a way no one had, in the capacity of an equal, realized Ed’s potential when Ed still thought so little of his flawed design.

Ed’s only interests so far in life had been riddles, puzzles, games, the GCPD, and the underworld. The latter fascination only coming to fruition after Oswald showed up at the precinct to save Jim’s hide. The beginnings of his appreciation for Oswald stemmed from that singular event. Oswald had indirectly started a revolution, laid out the groundwork for freakish villains to flourish, which allowed anyone who thought they were _abnormal_ to redefine themselves with some value.

How Ed’s definition of love had changed, finding it to be all-encompassing when it came to Oswald, but had been fleeting when he thought of Miss Kringle and Isabella. How he’d been able to overcome their loss, but Oswald being ‘ _dead_ ’ had sent him on a drug-induced trajectory as a means of coping. How Oswald still being alive invigorated him, as well as infuriated him. Oswald being dead had been an absolute, everything that came from that moment had _altered_ him.

He couldn’t regress, continued to flush out an alliance with Barbara to at least _be_  a threat, and in turn ended up frozen.

How he still sought after Oswald after being thawed, because that’s all he knew. It had never been that simple, but Ed’s mental faculties at the time didn’t carry the right dimensions to grasp what Oswald meant when he said:

’ _A better revenge is having you live, knowing that you are not him, and you never will be again.’_

It was clear as day now, an invitation, a gesture laced as a delusion, _knowing_  Ed would do anything he could to recuperate, and be some form of what he once was, to _prove him wrong._  Oswald still knew him best, knew which moves he’d take. Perhaps failed to anticipate his form of ridiculing Oswald on stage, but he’d been _bitter,_ and pining for Oswald’s attention helped him feel less obsolete.

The more time flew, the more it felt as if their lives were moving down parallel streets with twists that threatened to converge, but never quite intersected. Oswald had constant distractions, as he held a foothold amongst the rogues that Ed hadn’t breached. From Sofia, to Jerome, to Arkham trips, to the abysmal threat of the GCPD, to the arrival of the Joker, to frequent attacks on the Iceberg Lounge, Oswald was constantly battling to keep afloat.

Ed just simply dabbled in various schemes, and watched from afar. Which never felt right. He hashed out alliances with Joker, with Scarecrow, with anyone who would give him the opportunity, but nothing had felt the same as when he’d worked alongside Oswald. Nothing had ever made him feel as strong, as malevolent, as _full._

Ed had worth because Oswald defined it for him, without question, with all the certainty in the world. He’d been willing to give up his life to keep Ed safe, and likely would for the remainder of their lives. It had taken much too long to draw a conclusive deduction to Oswald ‘ _passing’_  his test, long after shooting him, after being frozen, after watching the rollercoaster that constantly sought Oswald’s demise. He didn’t know what it _meant_  then, but so long as he understood five years later, that was okay, right? Oswald would accept that, _right_?

”I don’t know.” Lee sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Even by Gotham’s standards, this seems like a bad idea.”

Ed didn’t want to call it an idea, didn’t want to entertain that he may never be allowed to express how he felt. Didn’t want to go another day in the Narrows while Oswald lived a life that didn’t include him. Surely Oswald felt as empty as he did.

”Then tell him that, tell him all of it. Lead with you love him, and go from there.” Lee prompted, retrieving a phone she had hidden in a compartment underneath her desk.

”It’s been too long.”

”Love knows no bounds of time.” Lee slid the cell phone across the table towards him. “Have you ever known Oswald to love anyone more than himself?” _Or power,_  she thought.

Ed’s gaze slipped to the ceiling, visibly counting with his fingers, but refrained from voicing his inner dialogue.  _Well, yes, his mother, his father, the child from the news—_ “Contrary to popular belief Oswald isn’t as self-absorbed as he may portray.”

”You might be a little biased, Ed.” Lee pointed towards the device. “The only number in there is his, make the call,” upon receiving a conflused glance, she continued, “how am I supposed to run the Narrows without some form of protection from Gotham’s elite?”

* * *

Lee had made it seem like it was so obvious, that Oswald would return his affections with ease, but she didn’t know _Oswald’s_  side of all of this.

First, Ed tried to call, Mr. Penn picking up on the other end, sounding like he nearly dropped the phone when Ed announced who’d been calling.

’ _What can I do for you, Nygma?’_  Came Zsasz on the line, before clearly covering the receiver.

”I want to speak with Oswald.” Ed could vaguely make out hushed whispering, no doubt causing Zsasz to reluctantly relay _whatever_  commanded reply had been given.

’ _Boss is generally pretty busy this time of day, can I take a message?’_ Deadpan yet sarcastic, a Zsasz special. 

“No.” He should’ve known it wouldn’t be so simple, Oswald had spent years building a wall between them, had done anything he could to limit their interactions. Ed snapped the phone shut, bringing it back to Lee’s office to hand it to her directly.

”Didn’t go well?” She asked, correctly able to read the slight crease to Ed’s brows as he released a breath.

”It hasn’t _gone_  anywhere. I have to _go_  to him directly.”

”Just don’t get killed in the process, alright?”

This was how he ended up at the manor, waiting patiently for Oswald to return, trying not to ruin the foliage he was hidden amongst, next to the door. Watched as Oswald got out of the town car, bidding adieu to the driver, witnessed Oswald pause at the first step as if he could _feel_  something was off, but shrugged after several seconds, making his way into the home. Ed’s up the short staircase in a flash, catching the door before it could close,  _waiting_  before he made his presence known.

This was Ed’s final chance to choose, to either run and never divulge his most sincerest weakness to a man he once claimed was his enemy, or to jump head first and see if he— _they_ could weather the subsequent storm.

There was no backing down from this, slamming the front door against the opposing wall, trotting the short length to the living area, finding Oswald looking absolutely unaffected, as if he’d been _anticipating_ his arrival.

The house felt like _home,_  made Ed feel like he’d been on an extended absence, but had finally returned. There was a level of comfort here, and Oswald was an added bonus. All Ed wanted to do was reach out, to pull him into an embrace, to _express_  everything he felt, would prefer to leave it wordless, wanted his actions to speak for themselves, but Oswald would probably put a knife to his jugular before he could even cross the threshold to get that close.

 _“I love you_.”

Of course it was absolutely terrifying, the words flew out of him before he could catch them. There’s the brief moment when Oswald falters, where his cane shifts under his weight, almost as if he’s about to faint. Ed’s given the opportunity to bask in the effect his words have, smiling because this is the most time they’ve shared in years, and he could stare at Oswald for the rest of his life and be content. But, the moment passes, Oswald finds his bearing, shifting back to cautious and uncaring. 

Ed grabs for the glass on the platter from the table, pouring himself a drink, holding it against his chest, needing something to keep him grounded, something to prevent him from lunging forward. Ed just wants to hear the words back, even has to repeat them, and finds it’s easier to say it a second time, wonders if it’ll be even easier a third, a fourth, or as many times as Oswald needs to hear it to know it’s not a trick.

 _“I don’t really... feel anything_.”

That wasn’t quite... _right._  Ed goes rigid, glass slipping from his grasp. The words ripped through him, cold, seizing, forcing a dull ache over his chest, and causing his heart to skip a beat. It didn’t make _sense._  Ed counted on constants, Oswald being a slave to his emotions was one constant he could hold onto remaining true. They might’ve needed to take a few roundabouts to reach their destination, but Ed was _here,_ why wasn’t Oswald?

That need to reach out, to feel Oswald against his chest, to feel that warmth that he desperately yearned for, was more prominent now than it ever had been, but Oswald felt even further away. Recoiled at Ed’s movements even, as if he’d been worth so little to him. Ed had created a list, sometime while waiting for Oswald to return home, about possible outcomes, but this hadn’t even been one.

Everything had always led back to Oswald loving him in return.

Ed hadn’t realized rejection could cause such an agonizing rupture.

Though, at the same time, it was nothing short of fantastic, left Ed feeling slightly amused that Oswald could still go against the grain of everything he’d come to understand. It was an element of why everything to do with Oswald was endearing, felt like an infection with no cure, a capability Oswald would always hold over him. _You never cease to amaze me_ , he’s tempted to say.

Ed finds himself stumbling over his words, still trying to wrap his head around where he’d gone wrong, trying to make a quick analysis, could he have started differently? Ed always thought in calculations, thought out steps and probabilities, he hadn’t factored in emotions like Oswald could. Hadn’t taken into consideration that Oswald could display self-control. It was another added beauty of their potential fusion, something else Ed had only considered from their time apart. That their blend of terror could bring Gotham to its precipice. Ed knew how to plan and plot, Oswald knew how to execute, read, and adapt.

Individually, they were reputable masterminds, had their own ambitions and values. Combined, they were a maelstrom of duplicity and calamity, formidable and flawless.

 _”At one point, you were my biggest threat, regret, and mistake. Of course I kept watch over you_.”

 _Yes_ , because Oswald always knew how to deflect. Ed should’ve been prepared for that, known how to counter it, how to keep this topic on track, but they were straying, bringing up Wayne Manor. Oswald—debonair and taunting—knew which buttons to press, how to make Ed _defensive_ , to shy away from what he’d truly been there to accomplish.

It was a coping mechanism, something Ed should be able to understand, but all he can think of is having to account for the _embarrassment_  of an evening Oswald had been referring to.

Oswald being cavalier to all of this was a tactic, a manner in which to impose his control over the situation, but Ed didn’t want to give him the reigns. This was supposed to be his turn to offer reconciliation, to give Oswald what he always wanted, how had this not worked in his favour? How had his love not been enough for Oswald to accept?

”— _you seem to work fairly well together.”_ Maybe it’s not a slip, maybe it’s not meant to sound embittered by jealousy, but that’s how it reaches Ed’s ears. Yet, Oswald turns it around to present it as an opportunity for personal development, but Ed reads between the lines, an acquired talent from studying Oswald over the years.

” _Look at me and tell me you don’t love me_.” 

There might have been an element to wanting Oswald to fully acknowledge him, to look at him as he hadn’t for years, to see the storm in those hues. This would do though, to see a crack in the facade. The hesitation in the pause, that shared commonality in their desperation to connect. Even when in the end, Oswald still says, ‘ _I don’t love you.’_

It still _hurts,_ but not at the same intensity as Oswald’s initial dismissal. This time Ed could leave with a sliver of hope.

Saying ‘ _I love you_ ’ hadn’t been enough. Ed would need to find a way to ascertain that they could find unity, fate among the turmoil. That he wouldn’t leave, that there would be nothing to tear them apart. Needed to find a way to show Oswald that fear was but a barrier, they were grander than it, deserved the harmony.

Ed needed a way to wade through the wreckage, find the proper means to sew old wounds shut. If it needed to take another five years, so be it, it was a riddle waiting to be solved, it was what he strived for. _Nothing_  else was more important.


End file.
